Haircut

When it comes to immersing oneself in a foreign culture, even the most seasoned of world travelers has his limits. My time in China has and will change many things about me. My hair will not be one of those things. The chasm between Chinese tastes in hairstyle and my personal tastes are even greater than the difference between the languages we speak. By my standards, many young Chinese men have hair that is overly-styled and ridiculous. (They probably think my haircut is something that even a scarecrow would be ashamed of. That's okay. It is possible to hate the pilus but love the person.) A fairly common China 'do features closely shorn sides with huge, swooping bangs across the front and a bed-head look at the top. I badly needed a haircut this week but were I to just show up and have a seat, I would almost certainly get something along these lines.

So I needed an interpreter. Luckily (after a bit of persuasion) my friend Dan was a good sport and agreed to help. We walked in and she started talking to the receptionist. I thought I could hear her saying something about "average American male" and "yes, as a matter of fact, he is kind of boring." This was a good start. I was then handed a menu, which except for a few numbers, was entirely in Chinese characters. There was a range of options having to do with how long they spent on my hair and whether I wanted a more experienced stylist. I chose the shortest option from the least experienced stylist, thinking that a novice would be more likely to take instruction and that speed is the bedfellow of simplicity when it comes to haircutting.

So we were ready to go. Here's my before picture.

And one with Dan:

I was led back to a chair that reclined into a sink and given a lengthy wash in lukewarm water. Rinse. Shampoo. Condition. Repeat. Very soothing except the man in the chair next to mine was smoking a cigarette.

Then, I was led to my novice stylist. His name was Wing. He looked to be about twenty years old and his hairstyle channeled David Bowie. The beginning was bad. He pinned the hair from the top of my head into red hairclips and began working on the sides with an electric clipper. This wasn't a promising start, but Dan was long gone and there wasn't much I could do. After carefully trimming the sides and back he took the clips out and started working on the top. He was very meticulous, much more so than an other haircutter I've had. He would pinch out small tufts of hair, no more than 15 strands at a time and give them a measured cut. He worked in careful rows from front to back and then across the side with a different set of clippers.

It took perhaps half an hour. I was actually quite pleased with the results and thought we were all finished, but I was directed back to the washing station for another double round of rinse, shampoo and condition. Then I was led back to Wing's chair for a final styling session. I could have done without the wax, but didn't know how to say no so I just went with it. Again, he was quite meticulous arranging each lock of hair across the front until it was just how he wanted it. Then he kind of ruffled the back and sides, and we were finished. Here's the result:

Just kidding. That's Kei and me at the office messing around. People thought we looked alike when I wore that wig.

Here's the real result. Too much styling, but not bad for about $10.